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dethoratsSo this is an unfinished and half-assed thing that got borked by canon and by my own inability to write anything in a timely manner. And I didn't get far enough into it to finish it as an au but I wrote too much I liked to just trash it so...I'm posting it here for my own amusement. I'm starting a complete re-write of the idea that will match the canon instead and it'll be funny for me when I finally get the thing done in months or however damn long it takes to compare the two.
It was the smell, Usopp would decide later as he caught his breath against a warm neck and a steadying, slowing pulse, that finally did him in. It had haunted him for two long years and then, practically even before they’d had a chance to properly say hello and get reacquainted, he’d had to smell it again. Not much of the blood covering the swordsman had been, for a change, actually Zoro’s own. Two years has wrought quite a few changes, not just in Usopp but also in his nakama and Zoro, while still reckless with his own body in battle, had managed to not put himself in the way of quite so many blows as before. And despite much of the battle taking place underwater and washing away much of the sticky, staining liquid, he still had a couple of shallow gashes on his arm, a rather jagged looking wound on his calf that tore through his pants so that Usopp could see the blood rather than just shiny wetness glistening through black fabric. The rest of the life fluids soaking the swordsman belonged to Hodi and members of his crew and several of the less fortunate human pirates who’d been forced to block Zoro’s path, both beneath the water and above it. The swordsman was a dripping, salt-riddled, gory mess and Nami had taken one look at him and ordered him to take a bath before anything else once Chopper was satisfied that Zoro could put off being patched up until after he was clean. Zoro had grumbled and grabbed a bottle to take with him but hadn’t put up more than that token protest before following after one of the royal guards who had offered to lead them to the baths.
As for Usopp, he was a mess too, covered in ink thanks to an opponent and admittedly a little blood of his own. That one shot had been a little close for comfort, grazing a shoulder and leaving behind a smear of crimson. So it was off to the showers for the pair of them - Luffy too focused on food and Sanji still occupied by the mermaids to be distracted by anything else - and Usopp had been doing his best not to be slightly bemused and weirded out by the idea of bathing while technically being at the bottom of the ocean. Neptune’s castle hadn’t suffered any sort of permanent damage from the attack since it had been abandoned early on, and the water let in by Hodi had been pumped out, allowing the Straw Hat pirates to walk about comfortably. The whole scene - palaces and bathrooms - reminded Usopp strongly of Alabasta; flashes of Vivi and the far too many stitches he’d watched Chopper use to sew Luffy and Zoro back together and an all-over echo of the ache from his own bruises and broken bones. It was disconcerting to be following Zoro, weaving a bit to avoid the occasional messy red bootprint being left on the coral tiles, only to glance up at his back and be surprised at how the swordsman’s hair was longer, how he seemed a little shorter than before because Usopp had put on a final inch and a half of growth on the Boin Archipelago.
At least – of course – they were triumphant again. Fishman Island had been ‘destroyed’ as per the crazy prophecy of Keimi’s employer, true, but its citizens would remake it as a better, stronger nation, one that, like Alabasta, was united in spirit rather than divided, striving towards a common goal. It was something of a relief, Usopp admitted privately to himself, to find his nakama all working together again and coming out on top. Shabaody felt like a lifetime ago but the lessons he’d learned there had been seared into his soul. Most of all he was grateful that Zoro had returned to the crew hale and whole and back to the cocky bastard Usopp remembered from their very first meeting so long ago in Syrup Village. The Zoro that had existed after Water 7, the quieter one who’d come away from Thriller Bark with more than just a new sword, was probably somewhere still inside the swordsman but his confidence was back and, despite missing an eye, Zoro was more deadly than ever. During the outset of the battle, when Hodi had first invaded the palace, Usopp had had to duck beneath ever-rising waters in amazement to watch Zoro’s strike, so improbably, impossibly fast despite the drag of the sea. Thoughts of Arlong Park had been hovering ever since they’d arrive and that blow had made his eyes widen, overlaid as it had been with thoughts of blood dripping onto stone and a desperate fear for the swordsman and Luffy both.
That attack, that Zoro, was a sharp contrast to how the sniper had last seen him before Kuma sent them away and Usopp was still marveling over it as he followed the swordsman and the Ryuuguu guard down the hall. Two years of absence had given him more than enough time to dwell on memories and, try as he might, it had been harder to call up happy memories of Zoro than it had been for the rest of his nakama. Over and over again he would get caught up on those last few minutes in Shabaody, overlap it with the far too many times he could recall seeing the swordsman covered in blood, especially those horrifying hours on Thriller Bark when Zoro wouldn’t wake up and no one knew what the hell had happened to him or where Kuma had gone. The far-too-familiar pang of that moment stung again in Usopp’s breast and he banished it with a shake of his head and forcibly shifted his concentration instead to the proud and decidedly stubborn back ahead of him. As many times as he had wanted to smack the swordsman for getting them into trouble since the crew’s reunion – taking the KING hostage had only been the biggest moment of insanity – seeing Zoro so sure of himself had made the whole crazy mess almost worthwhile.
And all of Usopp’s training had been proven worthwhile as well, he reminded himself. All the hours, days, months of sweat and fear and blood and tears had left him more confident, truly confident rather than the blustering front he’d put up before, albeit he at least had the sense and intelligence not to invite in unnecessary trouble unlike certain other nakama. He was stronger than he had ever been; body toned, mind and senses honed, and a brand new arsenal of tricks to use for as many contingencies as he could imagine – which was quite a lot. The fact that his hard-won skills had not gone unnoticed was especially gratifying, and thinking of the approving nod Zoro had given him as he’d stopped the deadly avalanche, the appraising eye turned his way during battle, the raised eyebrow and sharp grin that had taken in the captured monarch and soldiers, spread a comforting balm over that place in his chest that ached whenever he thought of Shabaody. Two years and contemplating Luffy’s own struggle and loss had given him the time to shape and refine his goals; to begin to work more on the warrior portion of his dream since being a Straw Hat Pirate more or less covered the brave and sea parts. Having Zoro’s acknowledgement went a long way in easing the scars that lingered from two years ago but the memories still twinged as he followed the swordsman’s blood-stained form through the halls of Ryuuguu Palace.
He’d dreamt of those two moments so often, waking covered in a cold sweat to find Heracles shaking him and urging him to be quiet so they could grab what meager scraps of rest they could find. The admiral, the one made out of light, the one whose calmly smug smile as he ground Zoro’s face into the dirt had taunted him for weeks every time he closed his eyes, hadn’t so much as blinked as Usopp had shot everything he’d had, even odds and ends that weren’t ammunition, to try and save the swordsman. All of it had phased through and only Rayleigh’s intervention had saved the swordsman from what would likely have been a killing blow to his battered body. And then, and then…Kuma. Even though he knew the truth at last, thanks to Franky, it didn’t stop that memory from aching. He had dropped him, let his nakama fall, no matter that a Pacifista had shot him, had churned the ground with inexplicable beam powers that made his footing treacherous. And then Kuma had taken Zoro from them, made him disappear even as he’d reached a hand out in pure desperation to try and stop it and for one horrific instant Usopp really had thought the swordsman was dead.
Guilt had eaten at him even after his own long trip and bumpy landing revealed the truth of Kuma’s powers, and sorrow, and some of the bleakness that let him stand against the ghost girl in Thriller Bark. Usopp had long been a master of self-recrimination and that first month or three on Boin had found him arguing with himself every waking moment he could spare from sheer survival, reminding himself of the way his captain and Zoro both lived their lives without dwelling too much on the past, focusing on the future instead. It was what he needed to do as well if he really wanted to change, and Usopp resolved to shape himself into the sort of man who did not drop his nakama or let them vanish before his eyes. He was getting there, he decided he swerved to avoid yet another slick red bootprint, if those looks had meant anything, but there was still the matter of his conscience. He wanted – needed – to make amends, even if Zoro would probably give him that look that meant he was being an idiot and thinking about things far too much.
And it appeared as if he was going to get his chance and some honest-to-goodness privacy thrown his way as well. Usopp had a feeling he would need it if the prickling at the back of his eyes every time he thought about what he desperately wanted to say, as he flashed back once more to looming, terrifying men and Zoro’s prone form, wasn’t to detract from his new aura of manly coolness in front of Chopper and Luffy. Too, there was the matter of two long years apart after only a few weeks of something that had been growing for some time but had not seen fruition until after Water 7. They’d all changed, been marked by their losses and by the gains that had been so hard-won. After coming so close to losing everything that meant anything, Usopp knew he’d been braver, more honestly forward than he’d been before. His nakama accepted him for who he was and being truthful, even if it was just with himself, would not make them think less of him. As for Zoro, to Usopp he had appeared quieter, more thoughtful and more aware – of time and of people and of everything in the whole of the world it sometimes seemed.
Somehow, the day rough, strong hands had closed around his shoulders and a piercing green gaze had held him still and silent more surely than the gentle grip on his overall straps, Usopp hadn’t been surprised. He’d closed his eyes and let his head fall back even as he’d strained forward the last inch or two when Zoro had actually hesitated, the nerves he wouldn’t voice or allow to show on his face expressed in the faintest of tremors that shook the clasps of the sniper’s overalls with the whispered clinking of metal on metal. Soft and tentative hadn’t lasted very long, just enough for Usopp to want more, to take more as his hands came up and slid into moss-colored hair and set the three drops of gold in the swordsman’s ear chiming. When they had finally come up for air, the grin on his face was so wide it had actually hurt and Zoro had laughed when he’d said so and kissed him again.
It had been a bit more than two months but not quite three since that kiss when they anchored off Shabaody. The time had been punctuated by resorts and icebergs and Sanji’s unfortunate doppelganger and above all by Thriller Bark and Brook and those few heart-stopping hours when all they could do, all the Straw Hats, was celebrate their victories and trust that Zoro would mend and heal and move on as always. By then Usopp was familiar with the weight and shape of the swordsman’s cock in his hand, the heat and pleasure to be found in Zoro’s mouth. They hadn’t waited more than a few days after that first kiss to find a quiet corner on the Sunny and get naked, hormones and the reality of pirate life, of seizing the day and taking every moment, making it easier to act first and talk later. Which they had, of course, because Usopp functioned on words in the same way Zoro ran on booze and swords, and because it was surprisingly easy to talk with an ear pressed to the swordsman’s chest and an arm wrapped around his waist and to listen to the deep rumbled replies vibrating directly into his flesh. But it had only been after Thriller Bark, after his near brush with death, that Zoro had asked for even more.
Rusty splotches on white bandages – the fact that Zoro hadn’t pulled all of his bandages off yet – had led Usopp to pause, to reach out with careful fingers
It was the smell, Usopp would decide later as he caught his breath against a warm neck and a steadying, slowing pulse, that finally did him in. It had haunted him for two long years and then, practically even before they’d had a chance to properly say hello and get reacquainted, he’d had to smell it again. Not much of the blood covering the swordsman had been, for a change, actually Zoro’s own. Two years has wrought quite a few changes, not just in Usopp but also in his nakama and Zoro, while still reckless with his own body in battle, had managed to not put himself in the way of quite so many blows as before. And despite much of the battle taking place underwater and washing away much of the sticky, staining liquid, he still had a couple of shallow gashes on his arm, a rather jagged looking wound on his calf that tore through his pants so that Usopp could see the blood rather than just shiny wetness glistening through black fabric. The rest of the life fluids soaking the swordsman belonged to Hodi and members of his crew and several of the less fortunate human pirates who’d been forced to block Zoro’s path, both beneath the water and above it. The swordsman was a dripping, salt-riddled, gory mess and Nami had taken one look at him and ordered him to take a bath before anything else once Chopper was satisfied that Zoro could put off being patched up until after he was clean. Zoro had grumbled and grabbed a bottle to take with him but hadn’t put up more than that token protest before following after one of the royal guards who had offered to lead them to the baths.
As for Usopp, he was a mess too, covered in ink thanks to an opponent and admittedly a little blood of his own. That one shot had been a little close for comfort, grazing a shoulder and leaving behind a smear of crimson. So it was off to the showers for the pair of them - Luffy too focused on food and Sanji still occupied by the mermaids to be distracted by anything else - and Usopp had been doing his best not to be slightly bemused and weirded out by the idea of bathing while technically being at the bottom of the ocean. Neptune’s castle hadn’t suffered any sort of permanent damage from the attack since it had been abandoned early on, and the water let in by Hodi had been pumped out, allowing the Straw Hat pirates to walk about comfortably. The whole scene - palaces and bathrooms - reminded Usopp strongly of Alabasta; flashes of Vivi and the far too many stitches he’d watched Chopper use to sew Luffy and Zoro back together and an all-over echo of the ache from his own bruises and broken bones. It was disconcerting to be following Zoro, weaving a bit to avoid the occasional messy red bootprint being left on the coral tiles, only to glance up at his back and be surprised at how the swordsman’s hair was longer, how he seemed a little shorter than before because Usopp had put on a final inch and a half of growth on the Boin Archipelago.
At least – of course – they were triumphant again. Fishman Island had been ‘destroyed’ as per the crazy prophecy of Keimi’s employer, true, but its citizens would remake it as a better, stronger nation, one that, like Alabasta, was united in spirit rather than divided, striving towards a common goal. It was something of a relief, Usopp admitted privately to himself, to find his nakama all working together again and coming out on top. Shabaody felt like a lifetime ago but the lessons he’d learned there had been seared into his soul. Most of all he was grateful that Zoro had returned to the crew hale and whole and back to the cocky bastard Usopp remembered from their very first meeting so long ago in Syrup Village. The Zoro that had existed after Water 7, the quieter one who’d come away from Thriller Bark with more than just a new sword, was probably somewhere still inside the swordsman but his confidence was back and, despite missing an eye, Zoro was more deadly than ever. During the outset of the battle, when Hodi had first invaded the palace, Usopp had had to duck beneath ever-rising waters in amazement to watch Zoro’s strike, so improbably, impossibly fast despite the drag of the sea. Thoughts of Arlong Park had been hovering ever since they’d arrive and that blow had made his eyes widen, overlaid as it had been with thoughts of blood dripping onto stone and a desperate fear for the swordsman and Luffy both.
That attack, that Zoro, was a sharp contrast to how the sniper had last seen him before Kuma sent them away and Usopp was still marveling over it as he followed the swordsman and the Ryuuguu guard down the hall. Two years of absence had given him more than enough time to dwell on memories and, try as he might, it had been harder to call up happy memories of Zoro than it had been for the rest of his nakama. Over and over again he would get caught up on those last few minutes in Shabaody, overlap it with the far too many times he could recall seeing the swordsman covered in blood, especially those horrifying hours on Thriller Bark when Zoro wouldn’t wake up and no one knew what the hell had happened to him or where Kuma had gone. The far-too-familiar pang of that moment stung again in Usopp’s breast and he banished it with a shake of his head and forcibly shifted his concentration instead to the proud and decidedly stubborn back ahead of him. As many times as he had wanted to smack the swordsman for getting them into trouble since the crew’s reunion – taking the KING hostage had only been the biggest moment of insanity – seeing Zoro so sure of himself had made the whole crazy mess almost worthwhile.
And all of Usopp’s training had been proven worthwhile as well, he reminded himself. All the hours, days, months of sweat and fear and blood and tears had left him more confident, truly confident rather than the blustering front he’d put up before, albeit he at least had the sense and intelligence not to invite in unnecessary trouble unlike certain other nakama. He was stronger than he had ever been; body toned, mind and senses honed, and a brand new arsenal of tricks to use for as many contingencies as he could imagine – which was quite a lot. The fact that his hard-won skills had not gone unnoticed was especially gratifying, and thinking of the approving nod Zoro had given him as he’d stopped the deadly avalanche, the appraising eye turned his way during battle, the raised eyebrow and sharp grin that had taken in the captured monarch and soldiers, spread a comforting balm over that place in his chest that ached whenever he thought of Shabaody. Two years and contemplating Luffy’s own struggle and loss had given him the time to shape and refine his goals; to begin to work more on the warrior portion of his dream since being a Straw Hat Pirate more or less covered the brave and sea parts. Having Zoro’s acknowledgement went a long way in easing the scars that lingered from two years ago but the memories still twinged as he followed the swordsman’s blood-stained form through the halls of Ryuuguu Palace.
He’d dreamt of those two moments so often, waking covered in a cold sweat to find Heracles shaking him and urging him to be quiet so they could grab what meager scraps of rest they could find. The admiral, the one made out of light, the one whose calmly smug smile as he ground Zoro’s face into the dirt had taunted him for weeks every time he closed his eyes, hadn’t so much as blinked as Usopp had shot everything he’d had, even odds and ends that weren’t ammunition, to try and save the swordsman. All of it had phased through and only Rayleigh’s intervention had saved the swordsman from what would likely have been a killing blow to his battered body. And then, and then…Kuma. Even though he knew the truth at last, thanks to Franky, it didn’t stop that memory from aching. He had dropped him, let his nakama fall, no matter that a Pacifista had shot him, had churned the ground with inexplicable beam powers that made his footing treacherous. And then Kuma had taken Zoro from them, made him disappear even as he’d reached a hand out in pure desperation to try and stop it and for one horrific instant Usopp really had thought the swordsman was dead.
Guilt had eaten at him even after his own long trip and bumpy landing revealed the truth of Kuma’s powers, and sorrow, and some of the bleakness that let him stand against the ghost girl in Thriller Bark. Usopp had long been a master of self-recrimination and that first month or three on Boin had found him arguing with himself every waking moment he could spare from sheer survival, reminding himself of the way his captain and Zoro both lived their lives without dwelling too much on the past, focusing on the future instead. It was what he needed to do as well if he really wanted to change, and Usopp resolved to shape himself into the sort of man who did not drop his nakama or let them vanish before his eyes. He was getting there, he decided he swerved to avoid yet another slick red bootprint, if those looks had meant anything, but there was still the matter of his conscience. He wanted – needed – to make amends, even if Zoro would probably give him that look that meant he was being an idiot and thinking about things far too much.
And it appeared as if he was going to get his chance and some honest-to-goodness privacy thrown his way as well. Usopp had a feeling he would need it if the prickling at the back of his eyes every time he thought about what he desperately wanted to say, as he flashed back once more to looming, terrifying men and Zoro’s prone form, wasn’t to detract from his new aura of manly coolness in front of Chopper and Luffy. Too, there was the matter of two long years apart after only a few weeks of something that had been growing for some time but had not seen fruition until after Water 7. They’d all changed, been marked by their losses and by the gains that had been so hard-won. After coming so close to losing everything that meant anything, Usopp knew he’d been braver, more honestly forward than he’d been before. His nakama accepted him for who he was and being truthful, even if it was just with himself, would not make them think less of him. As for Zoro, to Usopp he had appeared quieter, more thoughtful and more aware – of time and of people and of everything in the whole of the world it sometimes seemed.
Somehow, the day rough, strong hands had closed around his shoulders and a piercing green gaze had held him still and silent more surely than the gentle grip on his overall straps, Usopp hadn’t been surprised. He’d closed his eyes and let his head fall back even as he’d strained forward the last inch or two when Zoro had actually hesitated, the nerves he wouldn’t voice or allow to show on his face expressed in the faintest of tremors that shook the clasps of the sniper’s overalls with the whispered clinking of metal on metal. Soft and tentative hadn’t lasted very long, just enough for Usopp to want more, to take more as his hands came up and slid into moss-colored hair and set the three drops of gold in the swordsman’s ear chiming. When they had finally come up for air, the grin on his face was so wide it had actually hurt and Zoro had laughed when he’d said so and kissed him again.
It had been a bit more than two months but not quite three since that kiss when they anchored off Shabaody. The time had been punctuated by resorts and icebergs and Sanji’s unfortunate doppelganger and above all by Thriller Bark and Brook and those few heart-stopping hours when all they could do, all the Straw Hats, was celebrate their victories and trust that Zoro would mend and heal and move on as always. By then Usopp was familiar with the weight and shape of the swordsman’s cock in his hand, the heat and pleasure to be found in Zoro’s mouth. They hadn’t waited more than a few days after that first kiss to find a quiet corner on the Sunny and get naked, hormones and the reality of pirate life, of seizing the day and taking every moment, making it easier to act first and talk later. Which they had, of course, because Usopp functioned on words in the same way Zoro ran on booze and swords, and because it was surprisingly easy to talk with an ear pressed to the swordsman’s chest and an arm wrapped around his waist and to listen to the deep rumbled replies vibrating directly into his flesh. But it had only been after Thriller Bark, after his near brush with death, that Zoro had asked for even more.
Rusty splotches on white bandages – the fact that Zoro hadn’t pulled all of his bandages off yet – had led Usopp to pause, to reach out with careful fingers
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Date: 2012-03-08 09:58 am (UTC)Hope you do manage to finish the rewrite!